As the summer took one last dance step,

And the cool nights of fall began to creep back,

he was lost.

That beautiful black haired, brown skinned boy,

who was almost my second son.

He and that gorgeous smile were no more.

Of course, he was no more that child,

who competed for a seat on my lap when it was time to read.

He was a man, and a good man.

One, I was happy and looking forward to seeing grow into middle age,

As I and his parents grew into, what?

Older adults.

After he passed,

I felt as if a thousand books had closed.

All those images I had locked away,

images of possible futures:

holding his child,

meeting his wife,

attending a wedding,

seeing his children and my grandchildren play together,

all those possible pages,

falling like this year’s leaves,

to the land of never will,

as the ashes and smoke from his cremation,

rose, up to meet them.

.

.

Matthew makes me wish,

From a deep part of what you may call my soul,

that there is a heaven.

So that, I can once again see and hug the strong, good man

he had become.

 

© words by Dan DeMarle 2017